Grace looked at him with a smile which scarcely concealed her agitation. "I hope I caused no trouble," she said. "It is a frightful affliction. I trust you will be able to do something for me."

"Don't worry, my dear young lady. We shall cure you beyond a doubt. I think, however, that it will be necessary to employ hypnosis. All cases such as yours respond most readily to hypnotic suggestion. However, I shall observe your case for a while longer, before making a decision. You are going out for a walk, I see."

"Yes. I love the air." She rose with a secret fear of the man in her heart. If he should hypnotize her, what was there to prevent his learning everything. She determined to avoid this method of treatment at all costs, yet could not see how to do so without arousing his suspicions. "Good-morning," she said, hastily, as she left the room.

The walk to the entrance gate in the fresh autumn air served to revive her spirits wonderfully. Her original intention had been to stroll down the avenue which fronted the house, in the hope of meeting the delivery wagon on the way. In a moment the futility of this plan became apparent. She did not know from which direction the wagon would appear, nor would she be able to recognize it, even should she be lucky enough to meet it. She paused at the gate, uncertain, then began to walk along a path which led among the trees and shrubbery, with one eye all the while upon the gateway at the entrance. Once or twice vehicles passing along the road outside startled her into sudden action; she went toward the gate only to find that they had passed on. The tenseness of the situation began to get on her nerves; in her fear she was certain that she was being watched from the house, or by the gardener in the distance who was engaged in taking the leaves from the graveled walks. She had almost given up in despair when she heard the rumble of an approaching cart, and saw a smart little wagon driven by a young man in a blue jacket with large brass buttons, enter the gate.

She went quickly toward the roadway, pretending an interest in the horse. The young man saw her approaching, and looked at her shrewdly. She gave a slight nod, and continued to approach him. All of a sudden he threw down the reins, gave an exclamation, and jumping from the wagon, began to inspect the horse's feet with great deliberateness and care.

Grace went up to the horse, and began patting its nose. "Poor fellow," she said, consolingly, in English, looking all the while at the young man's face.

"Are you Miss Ellicott?" he said suddenly in rather halting English, without turning his head.

"Yes." Her reply was quick, eager. "Dr. Hartmann is expecting a messenger from London with the stolen snuff box to-day or to-morrow. I heard them talking about it, last night. The messenger is a stranger to him. He does not suspect that I am watching him."

The boy nodded gravely. "You are instructed to remain near the front of the house, or in the reception-room inside, as much as possible, during the day. The man from London is expected this morning. He may be here at any moment. Keep your eyes open." He began to whistle merrily, pretended to remove a stone from one of the horse's shoes, sprang back into the wagon and drove off to the house, without paying any further attention to her.

Grace walked slowly up the driveway, and finding a bench near a bed of geraniums, sat down and pretended to read a book which she had brought with her. After a time, the delivery wagon returned, but the boy did not even glance at her as he passed out. She noticed, however, that he was driving rapidly and appeared to be in a great hurry.

She sat on the bench for over an hour, wondering what would be the next development in this mysterious affair. She could not shake off the idea that she would soon see Richard, in spite of the fact that she had no definite reasons upon which to base her hopes. One thing, however, seemed certain. If the man with the stolen snuff box had arrived in Brussels, it clearly meant that Richard had failed to capture him in London, and it seemed not unreasonable to suppose that he would be following him.

She thought about the matter so much that it interfered with her attempts to read the book. After a while she closed it, and sat watching the distant gardener as he ceaselessly raked the gravel paths. Everything seemed so quiet, so full of peace—everything, in fact, but her own thoughts. Somehow it seemed impossible to believe that underneath all the beauty of this clear autumn day lay plotting, and tragedy, and even death.

It was close to noon, when she ceased her musings, and rising, went toward the house. Sitting so long in the open air had made her a bit chilly. She determined to seek the grateful warmth of the reception-room. As she mounted the steps of the house she heard sounds of a cab being driven rapidly along the main street, and a sudden intuition warned her that something of an unusual nature was about to happen. She glanced back, as the servant opened the door in response to her ring, and was not surprised to see that the vehicle had entered the grounds, and was rapidly approaching the house.

Her hasty glance showed her that it contained but a single occupant, a man, and in spite of the distance, she fancied that she detected something familiar about the poise of his head and shoulders. The thought was but momentary—she stepped at once into the reception-room at the right, sat down by the fire, and opening her book, pretended to be deeply absorbed in its contents. In reality she was observing narrowly the maid in the hallway, who stood at the open door, waiting to admit the man who was driving up in the cab.



CHAPTER VIII

When Richard Duvall and Dufrenne arrived at Harwich, on their way from London, the former requested his companion to turn up his coat collar, pull his soft hat over his eyes, and put on his spectacles. He feared that the man they were trying to locate might recognize the curio dealer as the person who had occupied the chair next to him in Monsieur Perrier's barber shop earlier in the evening. He also requested the Frenchman to make his way to the boat alone, keeping a sharp lookout for the man in the brown overcoat.

Duvall himself joined the straggling crowd of sleepy passengers as they went aboard the steamer for Antwerp, his eyes searching every passenger about him for some sight of the one he sought. Once he thought he recognized the man, a long way off, going up the steamer's gang plank, but he could not be sure, in the flickering light, that he was right.

He went aboard the boat, in some doubt as to whether, after all, his course of reasoning might not be incorrect. Here he was bound for the Continent, on the heels of a man whom he had no real proof was not at this moment sleeping peacefully in his bed in London.

The situation was a trying one. He lit a cigar and began to pace the deck nervously, inspecting the few passengers who had elected to remain outside, before directing his steps to the saloon below.

After some five minutes spent in a useless search, he observed a familiar figure approaching him from the direction of the companionway, and at once saw that it was Dufrenne. The latter passed him without any sign of recognition, but just as their elbows were almost touching, said in a low voice, "He is below, in the saloon, monsieur. Has not taken a stateroom."

Duvall continued his walk about the decks for a few moments longer, then threw away his cigar, and descended to the saloon. A number of passengers were dozing on the sofas, or in chairs, and at a table several were playing cards. He paused for a moment to watch the game, his eyes searching the room for the man in the brown overcoat. After a time he located him, sprawled in an easy chair, his eyes closed, his satchel tossed carelessly upon the floor beside him.

The detective began to stroll about the place, as though in deep thought. His eyes were fixed, however, upon the face of the man in the chair. It was a determined face, as the thin lips and close-set eyes showed, but Duvall noted with satisfaction signs of weakness about the half-open mouth. The man was undoubtedly sleeping soundly.

Duvall was at a loss to know just what to do. He was convinced that the ivory snuff box, upon the recovery of which Monsieur Lefevre had assured him the honor of France itself depended, was within ten feet of him, yet he could do nothing, apparently, at the moment, to regain it. To arrest the man, except on French soil, was out of the question. Even could he do so, the package which the latter had so carelessly slipped into his overcoat pocket in Monsieur Perrier's shop might contain, after all, but a harmless box of rice powder, and he would be hard put to explain satisfactorily his action. On the other hand, the presence of the snuff box on the man's person, supposing this to be beyond question, was not in itself sufficient to warrant placing him under arrest. He might claim it as his own property. There was nothing to show that it had been stolen. Clearly the only thing to do was to attempt to get the box from him by stealth.

After a long time spent in debating the matter pro and con., Duvall threw himself into a chair close to the one which the man he was watching occupied, and pretended to sleep. Of Dufrenne he saw nothing. After perhaps an hour, the card game ceased, the players retired to their staterooms, or to near-by sofas, and a steward began to lower the lights. Presently not a sound was to be heard throughout the saloon, except the chorus of snores from the sleeping passengers, and the creaking of the vessel as she plunged into the heavy Channel swell.

The detective slowly advanced his foot, and with infinite patience, began to draw toward him the small leather satchel which lay beside the man's chair. He did this so slowly and imperceptibly that the operation occupied the best part of a quarter of an hour. At last the bag was safely pushed beneath the folds of his overcoat, which he had removed on sitting down, and now lay thrown carelessly over his knees.

He bent over, noiselessly, his hand beneath the folds of the coat, and began to fumble with the catch of the satchel. In a few moments he managed to open it, and with nervous fingers examined the contents of the bag. Guided by the sense of touch only, he was able to identify successively a razor case, a shaving brush, a cotton nightshirt and a number of other articles of an ordinary and usual nature. He had almost given up the search, when his fingers closed about a small round object, done up in paper. His heart gave a leap of joy. He could feel the coarse string with which the package was bound and could tell from its lightness that it contained probably what he sought. In a moment he had drawn it noiselessly from the satchel and transferred it to the pocket of his coat.

The process of closing the bag and returning it to its former position was accomplished without waking the sleeping occupant of the near-by chair. Duvall was conscious of a feeling of exultation. He yawned, stretched himself, glanced with great deliberation at his watch, then rose and quietly left the room.

The decks seemed deserted. After some trouble he managed, however, to locate Dufrenne, standing beside the rail in the shadow of one of the lifeboats. He went up to him and saw that his teeth were chattering with the cold. Duvall could not repress a feeling of admiration for the little old Frenchman, who, rather than risk for a moment his identification by the man they were following, had elected to spend the night wandering about the decks. His patriotism was proof against even the cold.

Duvall touched him gently on the arm. "I have secured it," he remarked, quietly.

Dufrenne turned. "The snuff box?" he whispered excitedly.

The detective nodded, and cautiously drew the circular package from his pocket. "It was in his satchel," he remarked, as he began to remove the string.

Dufrenne's lips moved. He seemed to be offering up a silent prayer of thanks. He was scarcely able to contain his impatience as the detective slowly unwrapped the parcel, disclosing a small blue pasteboard box, on the cover of which, in black, appeared the words, "Poudre Perrier." In a moment Duvall had removed the lid, and plunged his finger into the box. As he did so, he uttered an exclamation of utter astonishment and disgust. The box contained nothing but rice powder.



CHAPTER IX

It would be difficult to describe the feelings of annoyance and chagrin which swept over Richard Duvall as he tossed the box of Monsieur Perrier's rice powder over the side of the vessel and watched it float for a moment on the crest of a wave before being swept into the darkness. He glanced for an instant at his companion, then turned away as he saw the latter's stare of astonishment and dismay. He wanted to be alone, to think out this matter for himself.

With a confusion of ideas racing through his brain he began to pace the deck, trying to discover wherein his reasoning had been at fault. He went back to the gruesome scene at the house of the Ambassador—the murdered valet, with the grim seal of silence upon his lips. Whoever had committed this murder had made away with the snuff box, of that he felt certain. Upon what, then, did his suspicions of Seltz rest? The evidence was slender—merely that the latter had had an appointment to meet the murdered man that afternoon, and that a person answering Seltz's description had inquired for the latter at the servants' entrance at Monsieur de Grissac's that evening. Not very convincing, surely, yet taken with Seltz's evident intention to leave London for Brussels that night, certainly significant. Following then his original hypothesis, that Seltz was the guilty man, and had the box in his possession, two solutions of the matter only seemed possible. The first was, the man in the saloon below, anticipating perhaps some attempt to search his baggage, had deliberately provided himself, through Seltz, with a second package, containing a box of rice powder only, which he had placed in his satchel, in the belief that, if found, its innocent contents would divert from him further suspicion. The careless way in which he had thrown his satchel on the floor beside him, favored this theory. It seemed, on sober thought, extremely unlikely that the bearer of so valuable a piece of property would be so thoughtless as to place it loosely in an unlocked handbag. Even now the real package might be reposing safely in some secure inner pocket.

The other solution was equally probable. The purchase of the face powder might have been quite innocent and bona fide. The man below might know nothing whatever about the snuff box, and Seltz might even now be on his way to Brussels to dispose of it, in accordance with his original intentions. If so, however, why had he informed Monsieur Perrier that he had changed his mind, and would not take the vacation he had requested? Was this merely a blind, to avert suspicion, in case the unexpected murder of the man Noel resulted in inquiries being made of Monsieur Perrier? Of course, when Seltz had spoken of his intention to go to Brussels, no thought of murder was in his mind—he had no vital object in hiding his movements—not having any reason to suppose that suspicion could possibly be attracted to him. After the sending of the note to him by Noel, he must have realized the danger of his position, and told Monsieur Perrier that his plans had changed, while in reality fully intending to carry them out as he had originally intended.

There was, of course, a possible third solution, namely, that Seltz had nothing to do with the murder at all, and was merely an innocent barber, quite unaware of all the mystery that was being woven about himself and his movements. In that event, as Duvall realized with the deepest chagrin, he would be obliged to return to London, and begin his investigations all over again. In this event, there could be but one starting point—the murder of the valet. Yet his painstaking examination of the scene of the murder had shown an utter absence of any clues. Even the weapon which had caused the valet's death was his own property—the finger print on the seal which closed his lips made with his own forefinger. And here the detective began to feel a deep sense of doubt as to the accuracy of his conclusions regarding Seltz's guilt. Would a man of his type have taken the trouble to place the gruesome seal upon the dead man's lips? This seemed, on second thoughts, the act of a hardened and unfeeling criminal—a man to whom murder was a scientific accomplishment, not a hasty and hideous crime. Was Seltz such a man? There was no answer to this question—the fleeting glimpses which Duvall had secured of his face, through the barber-shop window, had told him little or nothing of the man's character.

One fact, however, presently forced itself upon the detective's mind. If Seltz had left the shop for Brussels that night, according to his original intention, he must be somewhere on the boat. No night route from London to Belgium existed, except that by way of Harwich. He blamed himself that in his eagerness to discover the stranger with the satchel he had not thought to look for Seltz.

Upon the conclusion of his deliberations, Duvall crossed over to the other side of the boat, where he had left Dufrenne. The little old Frenchman stood gazing down at the sea, his face blue with cold, and filled with a look of bitter disappointment. He did not even glance up, as Duvall joined him.

"Come, Monsieur Dufrenne," the detective said, kindly. "Let us go below."

The old man accompanied him without a word. As they reached the companionway, however, he spoke. "We must return to London at once," he said. "This same boat will take us back to Harwich."

"Yes," Duvall agreed, "unless we discover that Seltz is aboard."

"Seltz?" The Frenchman looked up, puzzled, yet with an expression of renewed hope in his eyes.

"Yes. We have apparently followed the wrong man. In that case, why not search for the right one. If Seltz is on board, we will follow him to Brussels. If not, we will return to London. We can make sure, when the passengers are discharged at Antwerp."

Dufrenne nodded eagerly. "It may indeed be possible," he remarked, as they entered the saloon.

Most of the passengers were on deck when the steamer reached her wharf at Antwerp, but in spite of a careful search, Duvall was unable to locate Seltz amongst them. He stood by the gang plank, watching the crowd as it left the boat, his eyes searching restlessly for the swarthy countenance of the barber. He had almost given up hope, when he saw a belated passenger hurriedly cross the deck and dart up the gang plank. He moved rapidly, his throat muffled in a blue neckcloth, his slouch hat pulled down over his eyes, but the glance which Duvall obtained of his somewhat scared face told him at once that he had located his man.

He signaled quietly to Dufrenne, who had been standing discreetly in the background for fear the barber might recognize him, and the two left the boat together, some forty or more yards in Seltz's rear.

They did not make any attempt to follow him closely. There seemed no room for doubt that he was bound for the train to Brussels, and Duvall and his companion followed along at a leisurely pace, showing nothing of the agitation they so keenly felt.

They purposely avoided any attempt to enter the same compartment with the barber, being satisfied when they saw him climb aboard the train. They did, however, watch the departing passengers at all stops, and when they rolled into the station at Brussels, they were certain that their man was aboard. Nor were they mistaken. They saw him alight, look swiftly about as though fearing that he was being followed, and then start at a rapid pace toward the street.

Duvall went after him at once, directing Dufrenne to go to the Hotel Metropole and secure a room in his own name, where he was to wait until he heard from his companion. These instructions given, the detective began to follow Seltz up the street.

The man evidently knew the town well. He made no pauses, and did not hesitate at any time during his long walk. It terminated at a small, third-class hotel in the older part of the city, where he went in, entered the cafe, and selecting a table in a dim corner, ordered breakfast.

Duvall, feeling safe in leaving him, at once sought a telephone and proceeded to call up Dufrenne at the Hotel Metropole.

The latter, meanwhile, had turned from the railway station, and was proceeding up the street at a leisurely pace, when a young man approached him from behind, and touched him lightly on the shoulder. "Monsieur Dufrenne?" he inquired, smiling.

The curio dealer glanced at the man who had accosted him, and an answering smile lit up his face. "Oh, Lablanche, glad to see you," he said. "I did not know you were on this case."

"Monsieur Lefevre sent me from Paris last night. We are expecting news at any moment. Monsieur Duvall is with you, I observe."

"Yes. He is following the man from London. He will telephone me, as soon as he learns his destination."

The man whom Dufrenne had addressed as Lablanche, looked grave. "This affair has, we believe, been engineered by a physician here—Dr. Hartmann—you have heard of him, of course."

Dufrenne turned to his companion. "Hartmann—the man of the stolen war plans. Mon Dieu! Why did I not think of him before?" He seemed deeply chagrined. "Of course—of course—that explains everything."

"Where is Monsieur Duvall to communicate with you?" Dufrenne's companion asked. His voice held a note of brisk authority.

"At the Hotel Metropole. I shall take a room there at once."

"Good. I must leave you for a short time. Await news from me at the hotel. I shall, I hope, be able to inform you, within half an hour, whether our suspicions regarding Dr. Hartmann are correct or not. If they are, you will of course advise Monsieur Duvall accordingly. Above all things, the delivery of the snuff box to Hartmann must be prevented. On that point the Prefect was emphatic." The young man turned into a cross street as he concluded and was swallowed up in the crowd.

Dufrenne, after securing his room at the Hotel Metropole, sat down to wait. He did not have to wait long. The young man, Lablanche, joined him in a short time. "We have just learned," he said, gravely, "that our suspicions are entirely correct. Dr. Hartmann is responsible for the theft of the snuff box, and is momentarily expecting the man who is to deliver it to him."

Dufrenne looked grave. "Duvall should know this without delay," he said.

He had no more than spoken, when the telephone bell in his room rang. He hastened to reply and found Duvall at the other end of the wire. "Come to the Hotel Universelle," the latter said, laconically. "Hurry. I will wait for you."

Dufrenne communicated the message to Lablanche. The latter nodded. "Good!" he said. "Give Monsieur Duvall the information you have, and above all, impress upon him the necessity of acting immediately. There is no time for delay. I will follow at once, with another of our men."

The curio dealer found Duvall pacing anxiously up and down the hotel corridor, pretending to be searching a railway time-table. He nodded imperceptibly toward the cafe as Dufrenne entered, then turned and went out into the street. The old man followed him—in a few moments they were conversing rapidly in the doorway of a near-by shop.

Dufrenne had but a few words to say, but they were sufficient to show Duvall the extreme gravity of the situation. He stood for several moments, considering the best way by which the delivery of the stolen snuff box to Dr. Hartmann might be prevented. Then he signaled a cab which he saw approaching. "Seltz is breakfasting—inside," he said quickly to Dufrenne. "Don't let him out of your sight. I am going to see Dr. Hartmann." He sprang into the cab, gave the doctor's name to the cabman, and in a moment was being driven rapidly up the street, leaving the little old Frenchman standing blinking with astonishment on the sidewalk.



CHAPTER X

When Richard Duvall left the Hotel Universelle, en route to the office of Dr. Hartmann, he had no definite idea of just what he intended to do on reaching there. One thought was uppermost in his mind—he must prevent, in some way, and at any cost, the delivery of the snuff box to Hartmann, and since to follow Seltz to the latter's office would avail him nothing, he decided to precede him there.

During the drive, he began to formulate a plan, daring in its conception, extremely dangerous in its execution, yet one which, if carried out with courage and determination, promised success. He was perfecting in his mind the details of this plan when the carriage turned into the driveway at Dr. Hartmann's.

So occupied had he become with his thoughts that he failed to observe the figure of Grace, standing behind the maid in the open doorway; she disappeared into the reception-room before he had alighted from the cab. He went up to the servant, assumed an air of dignified assurance, and announced that he wished to see Dr. Hartmann at once.

The maid ushered him in, glanced into the parlor, observed Grace sitting there, apparently reading, and then throwing open the door to the left which gave admittance to the doctor's office, bade Duvall enter. The latter stepped in at once, without looking into the room across the hall. Had he done so, he would have observed his wife, whom he fully supposed to be quietly waiting for him in Paris, rise from her chair with a frightened face and start impulsively toward him.

For a moment Grace was on the point of calling out—she wanted to let Richard know that she was there. She wanted to see him—to talk to him, to realize the happiness of being once again in his presence. It had been, since their parting the day before, her constant thought. Then she suddenly realized that Monsieur Lefevre had warned her not to appear to recognize her husband, should she meet him in the course of her adventures. The thought checked her—she paused at the door of the reception-room and glanced down the hall.

The servant who had admitted Duvall had disappeared toward the rear of the house. Everything about her seemed quiet. She started across the hall, determined to enter the room into which Richard had just vanished, when she heard the sound of rapid footsteps approaching her. With a start she turned and again entered the parlor, assuming a careless manner she by no means felt.

She had scarcely seated herself in the chair by the fire, and opened her book, when she saw Dr. Hartmann appear in the hall and enter the door which led to the outer office.

Grace was undecided as to what she should do next. Her safest course, she ultimately concluded, was to do nothing. She remained quietly in her seat, pretending to read her book, but all the while watching, with anxious eyes, the door on the other side of the hall.

Richard Duvall, meanwhile, had entered the waiting room, his mind fully made up as to the course he was about to pursue. During the few moments which intervened, until the doctor's arrival, he looked keenly about the room, examining it in detail, fixing its entrances and exits firmly in his mind, so as to be prepared for any emergency which might arise.

The room was a large one. Along the side facing the entrance door, as well as that which fronted on the park, were big curtained windows, set in deep recesses, and between them, cases of books. At the far end of the room, toward the rear of the house, was another door. Duvall stole over to it, listened carefully, then slowly opened it and looked within. The room proved to be the doctor's private office, and he saw at once that it was built in a sort of ell, and could not be entered except through the room in which he stood. There was a door, it is true, in the right-hand wall, which had once given entrance to the hall, but against this a heavy instrument case, with glass doors, now stood.

Duvall withdrew his head and shoulders from the doorway, nodding to himself in a satisfied way, then noiselessly closed the door and returned to the center of the room.

In a moment Dr. Hartmann came in, glancing at him sharply. "Good-morning, sir," he remarked, in French. "You wish to see me?"

The detective took a card-case from his pocket and tendered the doctor a card. It was one of many which he carried for such emergencies, and bore the name of Stephen Brooks.

"Yes," he said, pleasantly. "I came to consult you concerning a curious case."

"Indeed!" The doctor looked at the card carelessly. "I see that you are an American." He began to speak in English. "Sit down, please."

"Thank you." Duvall took a chair.

"What is the nature of the case, may I ask?"

"Doctor—I've heard so much of your wonderful cures—of your remarkable success in treating mental disorders, that I have ventured to come to you in the hope that you may be able to help me."

The doctor smiled, not displeased at the other's flattery. "What is the cause of your trouble, Mr. Brooks?"

Duvall observed him thoughtfully for a moment. "If a person has delusions upon one particular subject, is he on that account necessarily insane?"

"Not at all. Manias of various sorts are not uncommon, and generally curable. Why do you ask?"

"Because I want you to treat such a case."

The doctor considered his patient narrowly. "Of course, you understand, Mr. Brooks, that my professional charges are very high."

Duvall took out his pocketbook and removing from it a note for a hundred francs, laid it carelessly on the table. "I have understood so, Doctor," he remarked. "Luckily I am a man of considerable wealth."

"In that event," Hartmann remarked, eying the bill in a gratified way, "I am at your service. What is the nature of your complaint?"

"It isn't about myself that I have come," Duvall hastened to inform him. "It concerns a man in my employ—my valet, to be exact."

"Your valet?" The doctor frowned, and made as though to rise. "My dear sir—"

"One moment, please, Doctor. The man is a most worthy fellow. He has been in my service for years. A Belgian, too, I think. I have a very high regard for him—an excellent servant, except for the peculiar delusions with which he has lately become possessed."

"I fear that I cannot undertake his treatment, Mr. Brooks. I receive only a few patients, and those of the highest standing."

"I know that. I did not propose to have the man quartered here in your house. I merely want you to examine him, in order that I may find out whether his case is curable or not. If it is, I shall take him to Paris and place him under treatment—if not, I must, of course, discharge him. It is for that reason that I have come to you."

"What are the man's symptoms?" asked the doctor, shortly.

"He imagines, from time to time, that he has been robbed."

"That is by no means uncommon. I have seen many such cases. Are these delusions confined to any one subject?"

"No. At times he fancies that money has been taken from him. At other times, jewelry that he has never possessed. Once he accused me of robbing him of a pair of shoes, and demanded that I pay him a large sum of money for them. I have generally succeeded in quieting him by assuring him that the stolen articles would be forthcoming later on."

"Excellent. And how long has this condition been in evidence?"

"About a month, now. During the past week, however, the attacks have been more frequent. Last night he informed me that someone had taken from him a diamond ring—of course he had never owned one—and wanted five thousand francs in return. I assured him that I would get him the money this morning."

"The case does not seem particularly difficult, Mr. Brooks, from what you tell me. Of course I could determine better after a personal examination."

"Exactly. And if you find no other conditions of an alarming nature, you think a cure possible?"

"Undoubtedly. When can I see the man?"

Duvall took out his watch. "I requested him to meet me here to-day at noon," he said. "I did not tell him he was coming for a medical examination. He might have refused to come. I let him think that you might be able to recover the diamond ring he thinks has been stolen from him. I thought it best to humor him. I should have brought him with me, but he had arranged to go this morning to see his people, who live in the town. He was to come directly here, after leaving them." He went over to the window and looked toward the road. "I am surprised that he is so late. Usually he is punctuality itself."

The doctor rose. "No doubt he will be here very soon," he remarked. "You can wait here, if you like. I will join you on his arrival. Meanwhile, as I have some matters to attend to in my office, I beg that you will excuse me." He opened the door at the rear of the room, which led to his private office. "When the man arrives, kindly let me know."

Duvall glanced toward the door through which Dr. Hartmann had just passed, then paused for several moments, listening; then he walked noiselessly across the room, and paused before the study door. Within all was quiet. Stooping down, he applied his eye to the keyhole. Dr. Hartmann sat at a large rosewood desk, busily writing.

With a smile of satisfaction the detective arose, and going to the door which led to the hall, drew from the lock the key which stood in it, and then, opening the door slightly, inserted the key in the lock on the other side of the door. As he did so, he peered out across the hall, and for a moment the key almost dropped from his fingers. There, facing him, sat Grace, his wife, whom he had supposed to be safely in Paris. The sight for a moment completely upset him—he paused, gazing at her with an expression of incredulity.

Grace rose, and came toward her husband, her face pale, her lips parted. "Richard," she whispered softly, then became suddenly silent as he pressed his finger to his lips.

As they stood there thus, facing each other in grave uncertainty, Duvall heard the sound of a vehicle being driven up the graveled road. He glanced toward the glass entrance door and saw a cab approaching the house, in which sat Seltz. He turned to Grace, and spoke in a voice so low as to be scarcely audible.

"Open the door at once—before the man can ring. Pretend to be a maid. Show him in here immediately. Quick." He withdrew into the waiting-room, leaving Grace staring at him in amazement. For a moment she hesitated. It seemed so cruel, to be this near to him, and yet to not even be able to touch his hand! Then she went quickly to the front door and threw it open as Seltz came up the steps.



CHAPTER XI

Richard Duvall, alone in Dr. Hartmann's outer office, had not long to wait. He had hardly succeeded in throwing off the agitation which the unexpected sight of Grace had caused him, when the door from the hall was opened, and Grace admitted Seltz to the room.

The latter glanced at Duvall with a curious look, but said nothing. Grace withdrew, closing the door quietly after her. The detective went up to the newcomer and addressed him in a low tone.

"You are Oscar Seltz, from London?" he asked, bluntly.

The man appeared greatly taken back. "Yes," he said, haltingly. "I wish to see Dr. Hartmann."

"About the snuff box, of course?"

Again the man started. "Who are you?" he asked, suddenly suspicious.

"I am Dr. Hartmann's assistant. He has been waiting for you. You have the box with you, of course?"

The man felt carefully in his pocket, and presently drew out a small object done up in paper. "Yes, I have it. The price was to be twenty-five hundred francs."

"That is correct," remarked the detective. "Give it to me."

Seltz drew back his hand. "I want the money first, and I cannot deliver it to any one but Dr. Hartmann."

"Dr. Hartmann is in the next room," said Duvall, with a pleasant smile. "He has the money all ready for you. I will call him. But first, let me see if you have really secured what we want." He held out his hand. "Don't be afraid," he said. "I shall not leave the room. The box will not be out of your sight."

Seltz appeared to consider the matter for a brief moment, but the detective's manner reassured him. He extended the package toward Duvall. "It is there, all right," he laughed, softly. "And a hard time I had getting it."

Without making any comment, Duvall took the package, quickly tore off the coarse paper wrappings, and saw inside a small round ivory box, its top ornamented with a number of small pearls, arranged in a circular design about its circumference. He glanced swiftly at it, crushed the paper into his pocket, then started toward the door at the rear.

"Where are you going?" demanded Seltz, harshly, his hand going toward his pocket, as though for a weapon.

"To call the doctor, my man," Duvall replied. "Don't excite yourself. He will be here in a moment, with your money." Without a moment's hesitation he crossed to the study door and tapped lightly upon it. As he did so, his back was toward Seltz, hence the latter did not see the swift movement, by which he conveyed the snuff box to the pocket of his waistcoat. When, after a few moments' delay, Dr. Hartmann appeared on the threshold, Duvall's hands were both quite empty.

As the doctor entered the room, the detective gave a quick nod toward Seltz. "My man," he remarked, in a low tone. "He seems to be rather bad, this morning;" then aloud, "Oscar, this is Doctor Hartmann."

Seltz bowed, then stood uncomfortably, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as the doctor bent upon him a searching glance. "Sit down, my good fellow," the latter presently remarked, as he took a chair.

"I—I don't think I had better, sir," he stammered. "I am in somewhat of a hurry—"

The doctor interrupted him, in a soothing voice. "There, there. Sit down. I want to talk to you."

Seltz glanced helplessly toward Duvall, apparently somewhat confused by the reception which Dr. Hartmann had accorded him. It was not entirely what he had expected.

"I have explained everything to the doctor," remarked Duvall hastily. "He understands about the money you requested." He looked significantly at Dr. Hartmann.

"Then I hope the matter can be settled at once," said Seltz, apparently much relieved. He made no movement to sit down, but continued to look expectantly at Dr. Hartmann.

The latter nodded in a grave and reassuring way. "Give yourself no uneasiness, my man. Everything will be satisfactorily arranged. Meanwhile, sit down, if you please, and tell me something about yourself. I understand you have been greatly worried, of late. Not quite yourself—let us say."

Seltz looked at him in blank amazement. "I haven't been worried by anything, except the business which brought me here. I want my money—"

"Exactly—exactly," the doctor assented, in a soothing voice. "You shall have your money in due time. I promise you that. But first sit down and let us have a little chat."

Seltz sat down, helplessly. Apparently he was at a loss as to just what to say next. The doctor had told him that the money he expected would be forthcoming—he resigned himself in patience to await the latter's pleasure. For a moment he glanced at Duvall, however. "You should not have taken it from me," he said, peevishly.

Duvall looked quickly at Dr. Hartmann. The latter at once spoke up. "Give the matter no further thought, my man," he said, gravely. "I will see that you are fairly treated. But before we go ahead, I want you to tell me more about yourself—your life—your amusements—"

"What the devil have my amusements got to do with the matter?" exclaimed Seltz, his voice trembling with anger. "I tell you I want my money."

"And I tell you you shall have it. But, now, I insist that you let the matter drop for the present and answer my questions, otherwise I can do nothing to help you."

The remark quieted Seltz somewhat. He was, after all, in a peculiar position. The snuff box was gone. He cursed his stupidity in having let it pass out of his possession before the price agreed upon for its delivery had been forthcoming. That Dr. Hartmann did not question the payment of the money, however, was reassuring. He determined to answer as well as he could whatever questions the doctor might see fit to ask him.

The latter continued to examine his supposed patient with a shrewdly professional air. "How old are you, my man?" he suddenly inquired.

"Thirty-six."

"Do you drink?"

"Yes—I—I drink occasionally."

"Use any drugs?"

"No."

"Appetite good?"

"Yes."

"Sleep well?"

"Yes—pretty well."

"Have you had any shock, recently. Has anything happened to make you nervous, or excitable?"

Seltz glanced nervously from Duvall to the doctor and back again. What, he wondered, was the purpose of this examination? Was Dr. Hartmann trying to lead him into damaging admissions concerning the method he had employed to secure the snuff box? He scowled, then suddenly spoke. "It's none of your affair, is it? if I have."

"Oscar!" said Duvall, in a tone of remonstrance. "Don't speak to the doctor in that way."

"Oscar!" The man turned on the detective angrily. "Look here—you took that—that—" he hesitated, fearful that some trap had been set for him—"that article away from me—now see that I get my money."

The doctor glanced at Duvall. "He seems to be possessed with the one idea," he remarked, sotto voce, then turned to Seltz again. "My good man, I have already assured you that Mr. Brooks and myself will see that you get your money. What more do you want?"

"I want the money," Seltz cried, losing his patience, "and I want it quick." He sprang from his chair, and his hand shot toward his pocket, whence it reappeared in a moment with a revolver. "No more of this nonsense, now. I want the cash."

The doctor, who had also sprung to his feet, started toward the angry barber with outstretched hands. Seltz whirled on him, the revolver pointed directly at Hartmann's head. "Keep off," he cried. In his excitement he had forgotten Duvall, who at once seized him from behind. "Look out, Doctor," he cried, as he threw his arm about the fellow's neck and slowly throttled him. "He's gone quite insane—dangerous—take away the revolver."

As he spoke, he tightened his arm about Seltz's throat until the latter gasped for breath. The revolver fell from his nerveless grasp—he clutched at the detective's arm and tried to tear it from his throat, all the while groaning and sputtering at a great rate.

"Hopelessly insane, I fear," said the doctor, as he picked up the fallen revolver. "You had best take him away at once."

"But, Doctor, I can't do anything with him in this violent state. Can't you give him something to quiet him?"

"Nothing but a hypodermic. He wouldn't swallow a drug, I fear."

"Then give him a hypodermic at once. I've got to get him away from here, somehow." He tightened his hold on Seltz's throat as the latter struggled furiously, trying his best to get away. Luckily for Duvall, his adversary was a man of only moderate strength, but he struggled like the madman the doctor supposed him to be, trying in vain to speak. The detective's arm, however, tightly wound about his throat, effectually prevented his cries from becoming intelligible.

"I'm so sorry, Doctor," Duvall went on, as Hartmann prepared his hypodermic needle and approaching the struggling man, took hold of one of his arms and bared it with a quick motion. "I wouldn't have subjected you to all this annoyance for anything. The poor fellow has been getting worse for days, but I had no idea, when he left me this morning, that he would be like this."

"It frequently happens," the doctor remarked, as he pressed the syringe into the man's forearm and then withdrew it quickly. "There—he'll soon be all right now. Just hold him there for a few moments longer, Mr. Brooks and he'll be sleeping like a child."

Even as he spoke, the struggles of the man in Duvall's arms became less violent—his efforts to cry out less vigorous. "It's a sad case," the detective remarked. "I am very much afraid that he must be sent to an asylum."

"Undoubtedly the best place for him, my dear sir," remarked Hartmann, dryly. "I see your cab is waiting, outside. As soon as the man is quiet, I will have one of my attendants help you to carry him to it." He went over to Seltz, who was now struggling faintly, and felt his pulse. "He is quite harmless now," he observed, looking keenly into the man's face. "I will call one of my men." He went to the wall and pressed an electric button.

Duvall allowed the limp body of the barber to slip softly into a chair. "Poor Oscar!" he said, musingly, looking down at the huddled-up figure. "What a pity! Such a faithful fellow, too!" He turned to Hartmann. "I feel almost as though I had lost an old friend."

The doctor smiled. "Rather a dangerous one, I should say," he remarked, as he glanced at the revolver on the table. "You will want this, I suppose."

Duvall took the revolver and thrust it into his pocket. "Might as well take it along, I suppose, doctor. Now about my bill—do I owe you anything in addition to the fee I paid you on my arrival?" He felt for his pocketbook.

"Nothing, my dear sir." The doctor smiled. "I feel that in accepting your fee I am robbing you." He drew the note from his pocket, but Duvall waved it aside.

"I insist, my dear sir. You have given me your valuable time, at least, even if you could do this poor fellow no good." He paused, as an attendant in a gray uniform entered the room.

"Max," said the doctor, addressing the man, "help this gentleman put his friend into the cab."

The man came forward, and he and Duvall picked up the limp figure of Seltz, who was now sleeping soundly. In a few moments they had transferred him to the cab outside.

As they left the house, Duvall saw Grace standing near the door, her face pale, her eyes seeking his. He avoided her glances, making no sign that he recognized her. The doctor, somewhat annoyed, requested her, with elaborate but firm politeness, to withdraw. She did so, without looking back, but her heart was beating until it shook her whole body, and she longed to run to her husband and drive off with him, in spite of the doctor's presence. Somehow she felt that the necessity which had kept her a prisoner in this house no longer existed—that Richard had succeeded in recovering the ivory snuff box, and would soon send her word to join him, so that they might return to Paris together. She went to her room, ordered some luncheon brought to her, and sat down to await his message.

Meanwhile, Duvall, with Seltz beside him, drove rapidly away from the house, his arm about the man's unconscious figure. At the gate of the park he saw another cab waiting, and in a moment perceived that it contained Dufrenne, who in accordance with his instructions had been following Seltz. Duvall nodded to him, then pointed silently down the street. Dufrenne at once ordered his driver to follow. In a short time they had reached the Hotel Metropole, and Seltz, with the assistance of two of the porters, had been carried upstairs and placed on the bed. Duvall explained to the manager of the hotel that the man was a friend of his, who had been taken ill, and needed to sleep for a few hours. He also engaged the adjoining room at once, and thither he and Dufrenne presently repaired to examine the snuff box which, until now, had been reposing safely in the detective's waistcoat pocket.

He drew it out, when they were alone, and silently handed it to Dufrenne. The little old Frenchman took one look at it, then threw up his hands with a cry of joy. "It is the Ambassador's snuff box. Heavens be praised!" he cried, as the tears coursed down his withered cheeks.



CHAPTER XII

Richard Duvall looked at the tense figure, the agitated face of his companion, and once again a feeling of surprise swept over him, as he observed the little Frenchman's joy at the recovery of Monsieur de Grissac's snuff box.

Throughout the exciting events of the morning, and of the night before, the detective had lost sight of the apparent insignificance of the object of their search; now that he for the first time saw it before him, his curiosity was once more aroused. Surely there must be something of vast interest about this apparently worthless bit of ivory, to make its theft the reason for a brutal murder, its recovery a matter of such extreme importance that Monsieur Lefevre should consider the honor of his country at stake.

He took the box from Dufrenne's trembling fingers and examined it carefully. It was about two and a half inches in circumference, and quite shallow, not over half an inch in depth, in all. The ivory was old and yellow from use and time, and very thin and smooth. The lightness of the box surprised him—it seemed to weigh almost nothing, as he balanced it on the palm of his hand.

The circular top of the box was curiously ornamented with a circle of small colorless pearls, of trifling value, set at regular intervals about the edge of the cover. Within this row of pearls was an inscription in Latin, carved in tiny letters in the ivory. From its first words, "Pater noster," Duvall saw that it was the Lord's Prayer. The letters extended around the circumference of the box in several concentric lines, or rings, inside of the ring of pearls. In the center of the box was a cross of ivory, carved so as to be slightly raised above its general surface. Beyond this, the box contained no other ornamentation.

Along the front edge of the box Duvall noticed a small spring. He pressed it, in considerable excitement. Evidently the reason for the box's value must be within—some papers, no doubt, of extreme importance. He saw the cover of the box fly upward and glanced hastily inside. The box contained nothing but a few pinches of snuff.

Duvall was almost tempted to laugh. The whole thing seemed so ridiculous—so utterly absurd. Absent-mindedly he tried a pinch of the snuff, inhaling it into his nostrils. It produced nothing more startling than a violent fit of sneezing. Undoubtedly Monsieur de Grissac had told the truth. He did use snuff.

Closing the box, Duvall regarded it for a moment in silence, then looked at Dufrenne. "It isn't worth a hundred francs," he said.

"The box?" answered the curio dealer, as he followed Duvall's glances. "No, monsieur—what you say is indeed true, yet I would not sell it for a hundred million."

"But why? What is there about it that makes it so valuable? Surely you can tell me that, now that we have safely recovered it."

"Alas, monsieur. I could not tell you, even if I knew, which I assure you I do not. I can only say that Monsieur Lefevre has told me that it holds within it the honor of my beloved country, and therefore I would not sell it for all the money in the world."

Duvall was clearly puzzled. "Well," he said at length, as he thrust the box into his pocket, "there's evidently some mystery about the thing that I do not understand, but I suppose I shall, some day. Just at present our first duty is to return the box to Monsieur de Grissac."

"You are right, monsieur, and at once. There is a train for Antwerp in half an hour. From there we can take the night boat to Harwich. Let us set out without further delay."

"And that fellow in there?" remarked the detective with a grim laugh. "We've got to take him with us, you know. He'll be wanted in London for the murder of the man Noel."

"Yes. That also is important." Dufrenne went into the adjoining room and stood looking at the sleeping barber. "But not so important as the return of the snuff box to Monsieur de Grissac."

Duvall followed him, and lifting one of Seltz's arms, let it drop suddenly. It fell to his side, lifeless. "He's sleeping like a log. The doctor must have given him a pretty stiff dose. I don't see how we are going to travel with him in this condition."

"Then we must leave him in the care of Monsieur Lefevre's other agents here in Brussels. We cannot delay an instant, on any account."

"I do not agree with you, monsieur. There is one thing which is as important to me as the recovery of the snuff box could possibly be to Monsieur de Grissac, and that is, the safety of my wife."

"Your wife?" Dufrenne stared at him in surprise.

"Yes, monsieur, my wife. She is at present in Dr. Hartmann's house. How she came there, I do not know, but I imagine that our friend the Prefect sent her there, to assist, if occasion offered, in our work. In that he was wise; but for her presence, I fear my plan would have failed. Had Seltz rung the doorbell, and been admitted by any of the doctor's servants, I doubt if I should have been able to get the box from him before the latter had seen him. I should then have been obliged to use force, and the results might have been disastrous."

"Yes, monsieur. I see that. The young lady at Dr. Hartmann's was sent by Monsieur Lefevre. His agents here have already informed me of that. But that she is your wife I did not know." He pondered for a moment, glancing at his watch. "It is a great pity. Delay may be most dangerous. Why do you not send her word to join you in Paris?"

Duvall frowned, and began to walk about the room nervously. "A few hours' delay can make no difference," he presently said. "The box is perfectly safe in our hands. I am not, however, at all convinced that my wife is perfectly safe in the hands of Dr. Hartmann."

"But he knows nothing?"

"That I cannot say. So far he does not, I think, suspect that Seltz was the man he expected from London. If he had, he would never have let me leave his office. Luckily for us, Seltz was a stranger to him, and with the murder of Noel on his conscience, he feared to say anything to the doctor about the snuff box while I was present. I imagine he suspected a trap of some sort. But the doctor will discover, probably before the day is out, how he has been tricked. Then he will begin to investigate, and if he finds out that it was my wife who admitted the man, he may in his rage decide to retaliate upon her. I cannot think of leaving Brussels, without her. She must go with me. Upon that I am determined."

Dufrenne looked grave, and a glint of anger came into his eyes. "The service of France, monsieur, is more important than your private affairs. I beg of you that you leave here at once."

"But why, my friend? We can leave just as well in the morning. The box is safe." He felt his waistcoat pocket.

"Safe, monsieur! Let me tell you that neither the box nor you yourself are safe for a moment, as long as you remain in Brussels. You would be in no greater danger, if you were carrying about with you a package of dynamite."

"You are unduly nervous, monsieur," laughed Duvall, as he observed the Frenchman's look of terror. "I have every confidence in my ability to take care of myself. I must notify my wife to join me here as soon as possible."

"How do you propose to do so?" inquired Dufrenne.

For a moment Duvall was puzzled. "You could not safely call her up by telephone," the Frenchman continued. "For her to leave the sanatorium now, in response to such a call, would attract the doctor's suspicion at once. He is probably quite well aware of the fact that she knows no one in Brussels. If he should have her followed here, and see her meet you, he would at once conclude that there was something wrong about the whole affair. He is very well known here in Brussels, and very powerful. Undoubtedly he would have you both arrested on some pretext. Once you are searched, and the snuff box taken from you, all our work is lost."

His earnest face, his frightened tones, disturbed the detective greatly. He saw the force of Dufrenne's arguments, yet the thought of leaving Grace to bear the brunt of Dr. Hartmann's anger was not to be considered for a moment. He looked out of the window in silence for a long time, trying to think out some plan that would insure Grace's safety. A gentle tapping at the door caused him to turn. He nodded to Dufrenne, who at once went to the door and opened it.

The newcomer proved to be Lablanche, of the Prefect's office, whom Dufrenne had met earlier in the day. He bowed to Duvall, who knew him slightly, then glanced at the sleeping figure on the bed. "You have been successful, monsieur?" he inquired eagerly.

Duvall nodded. "This fellow"—he indicated Seltz—"must be taken to London as soon as he is in condition to travel. We will leave the matter to you."

"Excellent, monsieur. He shall be well taken care of. I presume that you and Monsieur Dufrenne will start at once."

"I desire first, Monsieur Lablanche, to get my wife from the house of Dr. Hartmann."

Lablanche gave a low whistle. "I should not advise you to attempt to communicate with her, monsieur."

"You think her sudden departure would make Hartmann suspicious?"

"Undoubtedly."

"Then we must arrange for her to come to Brussels this afternoon on some pretext. If she only had some friends in the city—"

"The American Minister, monsieur!" exclaimed Lablanche, suddenly. "He recommended her to Dr. Hartmann. It appears that he was at one time acquainted with your wife's people. Perhaps he would undertake to telephone to her. That would be entirely safe. But I beg of you, monsieur, do not let the Minister know what your wife's object in going to Dr. Hartmann's was. He knows her only as Miss Ellicott. He vouched for her to Hartmann. If he knew that he had been used, it would make him extremely angry."

For a few moments Duvall stood in silent thought, then picking up his hat, went toward the door. "I will see the American Minister at once," he said, as he went out. "Wait for me here, gentlemen. I will be back within an hour."

Mr. Phelps, the United States Minister, was busy in his cabinet when Duvall was announced. He took the card from his secretary and glanced at it carelessly. The detective's name caused him to start. "Richard Duvall," he said aloud, to his secretary. "Surely it can't be the well-known detective, yet the name—" He regarded the card, his forehead wrinkled with thought. Duvall's distinguished position as the author of several works on the science of criminology was well known to him. "Show him in," he said, at length, and began to relight his cigar.

Duvall was ushered in, and in a few moments had explained the object of his visit. "A young lady—a Miss Ellicott," he told the Minister, "had come to Brussels the night before, and had gone to Dr. Hartmann's as a patient." Mr. Phelps nodded, and added that he had met Miss Ellicott, and had used his influence to enable her to obtain Dr. Hartmann's services. "The doctor is a great friend of mine," the Minister remarked. "I regard him as one of the leading scientists of Europe."

"Undoubtedly," the detective assented gravely. "I am not acquainted with him, myself. My business is with Miss Ellicott."

"Then why have you come here?" asked Mr. Phelps, with some asperity. "The doctor's house is but a few moments' drive."

"I know that. But unfortunately I am not acquainted with Miss Ellicott. She might resent my calling on her so unceremoniously. I had hoped that you might ask her to come here, so that I might be properly introduced to her."

The Minister considered the matter carefully. Evidently he did not altogether like it. "You forget, Mr. Duvall," he said, finally, "that I myself do not know you. Furthermore I certainly have no desire to involve Miss Ellicott in any difficulties. I trust," he concluded, uneasily, "that she is not already so involved."

"No." The detective shook his head. "Not yet. But unless I can have a few words with her in private, she soon may be. I am working in her interests. I am here to protect her from a grave danger." He went toward the Minister, and, taking a package of papers from his pocket, placed them in the latter's hand. "Here are my credentials. From them you will see that I am what I represent myself to be. I cannot undertake to explain to you now the reasons which prevent me from going to Miss Ellicott where she is. The mere fact that I am unknown to her will, I trust, prove sufficient. I wish to say to her but a few words. She will be very glad to hear them, I know."

The Minister returned the papers to Duvall and glanced at the clock upon his desk. "We are having a few friends for dinner to-night, Mr. Duvall. I shall ask Miss Ellicott to join us. If you care to be one of the party—" He paused, looking at the other questioningly.

"I shall be very glad indeed to accept, Mr. Phelps. I assure you that I would under no circumstances force myself upon you in this way, were it not for Miss Ellicott's good. And, in order that your other guests may not by any chance identify me, may I ask that you will introduce me as Mr. Brooks?"

The Minister nodded. "Very well, if you wish it, Mr. Duvall. The whole affair strikes me as extremely unusual, and did I not know you to be a man of your word, I should have nothing to do with it. Under the circumstances, I will consent. At least, I feel sure that no harm can come to Miss Ellicott while she is under my roof."

The detective murmured his thanks. "You will be doing Miss Ellicott a great service, my dear sir," he said. "And one thing more. When you telephone to her, asking her to come, kindly do not mention the fact that I have called." He took the Minister's hand and pressed it warmly. "Some day you will realize the dangers with which Miss Ellicott is being threatened."

On his return to the Hotel Metropole, Duvall found everything as he had left it. Seltz was still sleeping soundly. Lablanche was reading a newspaper. Dufrenne was superintending the placing of Duvall's portmanteau, which had arrived from Paris in response to a hasty wire from him that morning. He had been without a change of linen since the day before, and the arrival of his baggage was gratifying.

He informed Lablanche of his plans. "I shall dine at the United States Minister's," he informed them, "as Mr. Brooks. After dinner I shall ask Miss Ellicott's permission to escort her home. We will take a cab and drive to the railway station in time for the midnight train for Paris. On my arrival there, I shall give the snuff box to Monsieur Lefevre, who will see that it is safely returned to the Ambassador in London. You, Lablanche, can go to London with Seltz as soon as the latter is sufficiently recovered to travel—in the morning, let us say. You, Dufrenne, will no doubt prefer to return with me to Paris. In that event, kindly settle with the hotel people for these rooms, and join me at the railway station." He paused, opened his traveling case, and drew out a suit of evening clothes.

Lablanche and Dufrenne withdrew into the adjoining room, where Seltz lay sleeping. The latter paused in the door as he went out. "Take care of the snuff box," he said, pointedly. "Remember—the honor of France."



CHAPTER XIII

Grace Duvall went to her room, at Dr. Hartmann's, after her husband's departure, her feelings divided between her joy at his success—for she felt that his departure with Seltz meant success—and her sorrow at seeing him leave her, without so much as a single glance. She felt certain that she would hear from him during the course of the afternoon, and after eating her luncheon, sat down to read a book.

The afternoon seemed interminable. When at last she could bear the inaction no longer, she rose, put on her hat, and started down the stairs. As she reached the hall, one of the attendants came up to her. "Someone wishes to speak to you at the telephone, Miss Ellicott," the woman said.

Grace hurried to the 'phone, which was placed in a small recess half-way down the hall. The woman accompanied her, and stood near by as she took up the receiver. Clearly she was listening. Grace determined to speak with caution. It was undoubtedly Richard calling.

When she at last made out that it was the American Minister, Mr. Phelps, who was speaking, she felt a keen sense of disappointment. She learned that he and his wife wished her to come in and dine with them. At first she refused, fearful least by going into Brussels she might miss some word from Richard. Mr. Phelps was insistent. They counted on her. He would not take a denial. The thought occurred to her, momentarily, that possibly Richard had taken this means of communicating with her. The idea seemed far fetched, and yet—she heard Mr. Phelps' voice, urging her to come, and rather half-heartedly she agreed to do so. "The United States Minister, Mr. Phelps, and his wife, have asked me to dine with them to-night," she said to the attendant. "Will you be so good as to have a cab here for me at half-past seven?"

The woman bowed. "Certainly, mademoiselle," she said, and moved aside as Dr. Hartmann came along the hall.

Grace thought that he looked both puzzled and angry. He assumed a pleasant expression as he saw her, however, and when he spoke she knew he had overheard what she had just said. "Dining at the Minister's to-night?" he remarked, as he paused for a moment. "A charming man, Mr. Phelps. I may look in later, myself, and bring you home." He passed on, his face at once resuming the angry scowl which Grace had marked as he approached her.

She returned to her room, and began her toilette for the evening. The small trunk she had brought from Paris contained but a limited wardrobe—she had not expected anything in the way of social engagements, in this work that Monsieur Lefevre had assigned to her. A gown of black satin, however, trimmed with silver, she had put in at the last moment. It was very becoming—Richard had never seen her in it—she hoped he might come to her, before the evening was over. She half-made up her mind to speak to Mr. Phelps about it—to ask him to telephone to the hotels and attempt to locate Richard for her. Then the thought came to her that she had represented herself to the Minister as Miss Ellicott. Clearly it would never do to let Mr. Phelps know that she had deceived him.

She arrived at the house early, and after being introduced to Mrs. Phelps, went to the latter's room to remove her wraps, and to talk over their mutual acquaintances. None of the other guests had as yet arrived. Grace talked to Mrs. Phelps as brightly as she could, but her mind was intent upon Richard, and she wondered when and how she would hear from him.

Duvall, meanwhile, had been engaged in changing his clothes. When he at last put on the white waistcoat of his evening suit, he took up the one he had worn during the day and removed from it the ivory snuff box which had been the cause of his interrupted honeymoon. He glanced at the thing carelessly, before placing it in his waistcoat pocket, and as he did so, he fancied he detected a slight noise in the corridor without. In a moment he had thrown open the door which led to the hall. A man—evidently one of the hotel servants—was just rising from his knees, a small brush in one hand, a dust pan in the other.

Duvall looked at him sharply. The man bowed, smiling in a stupid way, then began to withdraw, explaining that he was cleaning the hall, and hoping that he had not disturbed "monsieur." The detective closed the door, uncertain whether the man had been watching him or not. He remembered Dufrenne's warning, and realized that in going out, alone, this night, he ran some chances of having the snuff box taken from him. Of course, it was unlikely that Dr. Hartmann had any suspicions of him—yet it seemed advisable to put the box in as safe a place as possible, at least until he was once more across the French frontier. Yet where could he put it? To secrete the thing in his room was out of the question. The place might be searched, for all he knew, within half an hour of his leaving it. To conceal it successfully about his person seemed equally impossible. Where, indeed, could he hope to hide an object of this size, so as to defy a search, in case one should be made? His eyes suddenly fell upon the opera hat which he had taken from his portmanteau. He took it up and gazed at it with a smile, then quickly whipped out his knife and began, with great care, to detach the inner lining of the crown for a distance of perhaps three or four inches. Carefully drawing back the lining, he slipped the thin ivory box beneath it, and pushed it back into place. The lining was of heavy black silk, stiffened by the label of the maker which was glued to it. The space between it and the crown was considerable. When Duvall had once more fastened the silk in place with the aid of a needle and thread which he drew from his dressing case, it would have required a very careful inspection, indeed, to have discovered that there was anything unusual about the hat. Even the added weight of the box was not perceptible—its lightness prevented that. When he had completed his task, the detective suddenly threw open the door and glanced into the hall. It was vacant. Evidently he had not been observed.

There were but four guests at the Minister's that night, of whom Duvall and Grace were two. The other two were a Mr. and Mrs. Haddon, friends of Mrs. Phelps, who were making a short stay in the Belgian capital on their way to their home in London.

The little party, with the exception of Duvall, had already assembled in the drawing-room, awaiting his arrival. Grace found the Haddons charming and cultivated people who had traveled all over the world, owing to Mr. Haddon's connection with the English Consular service. Mr. Phelps had told Grace that they were expecting an American, a friend of his, whose name was Brooks, but she did not exhibit much interest in the matter. She was becoming more and more worried about Richard, and wondered if he could, by any possibility, have left Brussels without communicating with her. The thought seemed unbelievable.

Dinner was set for eight. As the hour was striking, the butler announced Mr. Brooks. Grace glanced up carelessly as the latter entered, then her face went white, and she started forward with a glad cry. Mr. Phelps, who was mumbling an introduction, did not, luckily, observe her agitation. Duvall looked at her coolly. "Good-evening, Miss Ellicott," he said, bowing. "I am delighted to meet you."

The shock of the thing almost unnerved her. "Mr. Brooks," she managed to gasp, her face crimson. In a moment she became calmer, as she observed her husband's warning look, and began to chat with him nervously, as though he were the chance acquaintance he pretended to be. In a moment they all were seated about the dinner-table. He had been able to say to her as they left the drawing-room, however, unheard by the others, "I will ask permission to escort you home." She nodded, with a twinkle in her eyes. All her nervousness and anxiety had left her now, and in their place came a delicious feeling of happiness at Richard's presence, and a keen sense of adventure that made the blood tingle through her whole body. "Mr. Brooks!" She laughed inwardly at the thought that no one at the table but themselves knew that they were husband and wife. She proceeded to enter into the spirit of the occasion with huge delight, questioning Mr. Brooks about his business in Brussels with a keen sense of mischief.

It was along toward the middle of dinner that one of the servants came in and handed Mr. Phelps a card. Duvall, engaged for the moment in conversation with Mrs. Haddon, did not perceive it, but Grace, who sat next to their host, experienced a sudden feeling of alarm. She observed the Minister's puzzled face, as he excused himself and left the table, and for an instant she thought of warning Richard. A moment's thought, however, convinced her of the uselessness of the attempt, nor did she indeed know what she could say to him. She remembered Dr. Hartmann's remark, that he might look in at the Minister's after dinner, to which she had attached no importance at the time. Now the thought came to her that the doctor was in the reception-room without, and that his coming, at this time, in the middle of dinner, meant that some disaster was impending.

In a few moments Mr. Phelps reentered the room, followed by Dr. Hartmann. The latter was in evening clothes, and his face seemed peculiarly forbidding and grim.

"Dr. Hartmann has consented to join us," he said to his wife. "Philippe"—he turned to the butler—"lay another place." Then he proceeded to introduce Hartmann to Mr. and Mrs. Haddon and to Duvall.

The latter looked at the doctor calmly. "I think we have met before, Doctor," he said, in an even voice.

"Quite so." Hartmann's face showed not a trace of emotion of any sort. "I hope your servant is better."

"He's still asleep," laughed the detective, then explained to the others, in a few words, his adventure of the morning. He saw that the Minister was puzzled, but the latter said nothing, at the time, and in a few moments the matter was forgotten. Only Grace showed any signs of alarm—Duvall went calmly on with his dinner as though nothing had happened. He spoke to her only occasionally and then addressed her with the formal politeness of a total stranger.

Dr. Hartmann was observing him intently under cover of a spirited conversation with Mrs. Phelps. It was clear to Grace that he could not quite understand why Duvall, or Brooks, as he supposed him to be, was dining here at the Minister's.

It was quite late when the party rose from the table, and, a little while later, Grace, anxious to get away from the place, and be alone with Richard, announced that she must return home. "Mr. Brooks has kindly offered to escort me," she said, quickly, fearful that Dr. Hartmann might suggest that she return with him.

The latter smiled coldly, his eyes fixed on her with a gleam of suspicion. "I think I shall be going myself," he said, as he took leave of the remainder of the party.

As they reached the sidewalk, Duvall observed the taxicab he had ordered to be in readiness, standing in front of the door. He helped Grace inside, then turned in some hesitation to the chauffeur. He dared not tell the fellow to drive to the railway station, since Hartmann, who stood beside the cab chatting with Grace, would inevitably hear him. He therefore instructed the man to go to Dr. Hartmann's with the intention of countermanding the order a little later, as soon as they had got out of earshot of the house. He threw open the door, entered the cab, and was about to pull the door shut after him when he felt his wrist seized from behind in a powerful grasp, and before he realized what had happened, Dr. Hartmann had stepped into the cab and closed the door. The chauffeur at once started off at a great rate.

"I'm sure, Mr. Brooks," said the doctor, suavely, as he sat down in the forward seat, his right hand still grasping Duvall's wrist, "that you will not mind taking me home with you. It is a long walk, and I fear there are no other taxicabs in sight."

Duvall looked at him sternly, then attempted to draw away his hand. "What do you mean, monsieur," he asked, harshly, "by detaining me in this manner?" He again tried to free his wrist, but the doctor was too strong for him.

Hartmann smiled pleasantly. "I feared, Mr. Brooks," he said, "that you might be tempted to use the revolver which you have in the pocket of your coat." He reached over quickly with his other hand and drew the revolver from the detective's pocket.

Grace, through all this, had said absolutely nothing. She realized how fatal any interruption by herself might be. She did not know of her husband's intention to leave Brussels that night. She had heard him order the chauffeur to drive to the sanatorium. Perhaps he wished her to return there. In that event, it was imperative that Dr. Hartmann should not know that the supposed Mr. Brooks and herself were anything but the most chance acquaintances.

"Doctor," she cried out, "what are you doing?"

"It seems that Dr. Hartmann has suddenly lost his senses, Miss Ellicott," exclaimed Duvall angrily.

"Quite so, my friend," said the doctor, sarcastically. "Just as our poor friend Seltz lost his. Don't try anything like that," he snarled, suddenly, as Duvall attempted to release his arm with a sudden twist. "I have a few questions I desire to ask you, Mr. Brooks."

"Questions? What are they?"

"I cannot possibly ask them here, in the presence of Miss Ellicott. Perhaps you will oblige me by stepping into my office for a few moments when we arrive at our destination."

"I can spare you five minutes," said Duvall, sullenly. He could not help remembering Dufrenne's advice, and regretted bitterly that he had not followed it. He had been prepared for almost any contingency. As he left the Minister's house, his hand clutched a revolver in the pocket of his coat. There seemed no way in which Hartmann could prevent him from taking Grace to the railway station. He felt so sure of this that he became overconfident. One moment only had he been off guard—the moment when, with his back to Hartmann, he had stepped into the cab. And the latter, seizing upon that instant's slip, had turned the tables upon him so completely that he cursed himself in his chagrin. Here he was, headed for Dr. Hartmann's house, on the outskirts of the town. Once there, the latter's attendants could easily overpower him and carry him into the place helpless. There seemed no possible means of escape. He determined to brazen the matter out, and meet Hartmann on his own ground. Resistance would at this juncture be useless. He congratulated himself that Grace had, by her cleverness, not shown her hand. The doctor evidently did not suspect, at least not very strongly, that she was anything other than she seemed—a patient. He knew he would be searched, and hoped that the place of concealment of the snuff box would defy even Hartmann. After that, he would demand his release, and rely upon Mr. Phelps to get it for him.

He lifted his head and saw that they were at the house. Without loosening his hold upon Duvall's arm, the doctor called to the chauffeur, "Ring the bell." The latter did so. In a moment, a servant appeared. "Send Max and Rudolph here," cried Hartmann, and presently two husky young Germans came out of the house. Hartmann spoke a few quick words to them in their own language and they ranged themselves on either side of the cab door. Then the doctor threw it open, and released the detective's wrist. "Get out, if you please, Mr. Brooks," he said, with a sardonic smile.



CHAPTER XIV

When Grace arrived at Dr. Hartmann's that night, she was so utterly astonished by the course which events had taken that she was scarcely able to think. What to do she could not even guess. Here was her husband, the man she loved, in the power of Dr. Hartmann, and there seemed nothing whatever that she could do to help him. Yet how could she go quietly to her room, when Richard might be in the gravest danger? On the other hand, to attempt any resistance, to let the doctor know, by any action on her part, that she and Duvall were working in conjunction, would result in nothing but further disaster. The thought flashed through her mind that by preserving her character of a patient, she might, in the morning, communicate with Mr. Phelps, and secure his assistance in obtaining Richard's freedom.

These considerations came and went in the few seconds required for the little party to enter the hall. Her husband went first. Dr. Hartmann stood aside to permit her to follow him. Duvall turned as she passed through the door, and she heard him whisper, in a voice scarcely audible, "Say nothing." It was the cue she desired. She extended her hand as the doctor came in. "Good-night, Mr. Brooks," she said, quite calmly. "Thank you for bringing me home. I hope we shall meet again, sometime."

"I hope so," Duvall remarked, indifferently, then turned to the doctor. "Now, monsieur, let us have done with this farce as quickly as possible. I have no time to waste."

"Nor have I. Good-night, Miss Ellicott." He nodded pleasantly to Grace as she ascended the stairs, then addressed one of the two attendants. "Where is Herr Mayer?" he asked.

"He is waiting for you in the laboratory, Herr Doctor," the man replied.

"Good! This way, if you please." He motioned down the hall. "Be so good, Mr. Brooks, as to proceed at once."

Duvall started off down the hall in no pleasant frame of mind. The whole affair had been bungled by his stupidity. He passed through the door which Hartmann presently opened at the end of the hall, and found himself in a long narrow passage, lit by a single electric lamp. Hartmann closed the door carefully behind him, and came on down the corridor, his footsteps echoing loudly on the concrete floor.

At the end of the corridor a second door confronted them. It was opened by a tall blond man, with a reddish mustache and brilliant blue eyes. "I heard you coming," he said, nodding to Hartmann, then looked keenly at Duvall. "So this is the fellow, eh? Where shall we take him?"

The doctor pointed to an iron door which faced that by which they had entered. Between the two doors ran a narrow corridor, with an iron staircase to the left, leading upward. "In here," he said, shortly, and going to the door, opened it with a key which he drew from his pocket.

Again Duvall cursed his stupidity. For a moment, thoughts of resistance crossed his mind but he at once realized the hopelessness of it, and followed the doctor into the room. The tall man brought up the rear, closing the door silently after him.

The room was pitch dark. In a moment, however, Hartmann had pressed an electric button, and a brilliant light flooded the place. Duvall looked about him curiously, and in that fleeting glance saw that the room was without windows of any kind, and that the walls, smooth and white, contained no openings whatever, except the door by which they had entered. The floor, as he could tell by its feel under his feet, was of cement. The room was bare of furniture, but he perceived a number of boxes and packing cases standing about the walls.

The instant the door was closed, Hartmann sprang at the detective and grasped his two wrists. The latter had always been considered a powerful man, but the arms and shoulders of the doctor were those of a Hercules. "Search him, Mayer," he said, as he pinned Duvall's wrists together in his iron grip.

The man addressed as Mayer at once began a systematic search of Duvall's person. With deft fingers he explored his pockets, felt the linings of his clothing, tore through the contents of his pocketbook. The opera hat had fallen to the floor, in the short struggle which ensued when the detective found himself in Hartmann's grasp. Mayer picked it up, glanced at it carelessly, then threw it angrily into a corner, where it rolled unobserved, into the shadow of a large box.

"There is nothing here," he said, in a voice of keen disappointment. "He must have hidden it elsewhere."

"In his room at the hotel, perhaps—his portmanteau," the doctor said, eagerly, releasing Duvall's hands and throwing him to one side with some violence.

Mayer looked grave. "I have searched everything thoroughly. It is not there."

The doctor muttered an oath. "The other—the old Frenchman?"

"He was arrested to-night on a charge of irregularity in his passport. Nothing discovered. He will be released in the morning."

"Teufel!" The doctor swore excitedly in German. "Then the other one—the one who was in charge of Seltz—he must have it."

"No. He also has been searched, with the same results."

"May I ask what you are looking for?" asked Duvall, calmly.

"You know, well enough, Duvall," exclaimed Mayer, turning on him. "Oh, yes—I know your name. The examination of your baggage showed that. As soon as I wired to London and discovered that the man Seltz had left there last night, I knew how we had been fooled. One of our men saw the snuff box in your possession just before you left the hotel to go to the house of Mr. Phelps. What have you done with it?"

Duvall regarded his questioner calmly. "I do not know what you are talking about, gentlemen. I have no snuff box, nor do I use tobacco in that form. And now, if you have concluded this outrage upon an American citizen, perhaps you will let me return quietly to my hotel. If you do not, I promise you you shall pay heavily for it."

His words, for the moment, seemed to disconcert the two men. Then Mayer laughed, "Nothing but bluff, young man—American bluff. I know who you are. You followed Seltz here from London, and got the snuff box from him by a trick. Now tell us where it is."

The detective smiled. "I do not know what you are talking about," he said, quietly.

Dr. Hartmann growled out an oath. "Take off his things, Mayer. He may have the box in his clothing somewhere—or the heel of his boot. I'll get a dressing-gown, from above." He left the room, and Duvall heard him clanking up the iron staircase.

"If you insist on removing my clothes," he said to Mayer, "I prefer to do so myself." He rapidly stripped off his evening suit and shoes, and threw them upon the floor.

The man gathered them up, feeling each article carefully, and testing the heels of the boots with a knife which he drew from his pocket. He appeared greatly disappointed at not finding the object of his search. Then he again examined Duvall, feeling his person from head to toe with great care. He had just finished when the doctor returned with a long gray woolen dressing gown, which he tossed to the detective.

"He's hidden it somewhere. He hasn't got it with him," Mayer exclaimed, angrily.

"Take him to the small bedroom in the west wing," said the doctor. "We'll get it out of him, before we're through. You can leave the clothes in the laboratory." He cast his eye about the room to see that nothing had been forgotten. Duvall trembled, thinking of the hat lying unseen behind the packing case in the corner. Hartmann, however, did not observe it. Without saying anything further he threw open the door, and they all passed into the little hall.

From there, Duvall was led up the iron staircase to the floor above, and found himself in a large room which he took to be the doctor's laboratory. It was dimly lit by means of a reading-lamp. He had a confused vision of a number of scientific appliances, bulking huge and forbidding in the shadows, and then was conducted through a glass door and along a corridor similar to the one through which he and the doctor had so recently passed on the floor below. He judged, from the direction they were taking, that it was directly above the lower passageway, and led back to the main part of the house.

In this he soon found that he was correct. A door at the end of the corridor gave entrance to the upper central hall of the main building. He was led off to the right, catching a momentary glimpse of a woman attendant sitting in a chair near the head of the stairs as he passed. In a few moments Hartmann paused before a door, threw it open, and turned on the lights. The detective saw before him a well-furnished bedroom, with two large windows, and another door, which he later found gave entrance to a bathroom. The dark shadows against the night light without showed him at once that the windows were barred.

He turned to the two men. "You do not intend to release me then?" he asked, angrily.

Hartmann laughed. "You will be quite comfortable here, my friend. I am sure that a few days of complete rest will benefit your condition greatly. I imagine your trouble is merely a temporary affliction—a loss of memory, let us say, an inability to recall your name. We'll soon have you all right again. You have only to inform me where you have placed the snuff box which you stole from my messenger this morning, and I shall know that a complete cure has been effected. If your friends are alarmed about you, it will be quite sufficient to tell them that you are in my care. Mr. Phelps, for instance, has complete confidence in my ability. I will make it a point to explain matters to him at once. Just a trifling ailment, a disordered condition of the brain cells. A week should set you right again. If there is anything you wish, the attendants will get it for you. Your clothes will be sent up from the hotel in the morning. Make yourself quite at home, I beg of you."

He turned away, with a sardonic smile, and Duvall heard the key turn in the door as it closed. He glanced at the barred windows, the door, half-open, leading to the bathroom, and realized that there was not the slightest hope of escape. Dr. Hartmann evidently intended to keep him a prisoner until he disclosed the whereabouts of the snuff box. He smiled grimly as he threw himself upon the bed. It seemed likely that his stay would be a long one.

After a time he began to think of Grace. How cleverly she had carried out her part! It was clear that the doctor did not suspect her, or, if he did, was unable to see where his suspicions led. How strange it seemed to realize that she, his wife, lay somewhere under the same roof with him—possibly even in the very next room! But thirty-six hours had passed since their wedding and their sudden and unexpected parting. During that time, he had seen Grace but twice, once, at Hartmann's office, in the morning; the second time, at the Minister's that night. How he had longed to touch her hand, to put his arms about her, to feel his lips on hers. Yet as matters stood, the chances of their seeing each other in the near future seemed particularly remote. He wondered if Hartmann would keep him a prisoner in his room. The morning, of course, would tell. He switched off the lights, got into bed, and after a long time fell into a broken sleep.



CHAPTER XV

It was late in the afternoon, when Dr. Hartmann, through his man Mayer, discovered that Seltz had left London, and should have appeared at his office with the snuff box during the forenoon. A description of Seltz, together with a curious feeling of uneasiness which he felt after the departure of the man who had introduced himself as Mr. Brooks, caused him to conclude that he had been made the victim of a clever trick, and one which only his professional enthusiasm had made possible.

He at once set to work, through Mayer and his men, to locate Brooks. This was done, without difficulty, at the Hotel Metropole. While the doctor followed the latter to the Minister's, firm in his belief that he carried the snuff box with him, Mayer had arranged through certain connections with the Belgian police, to have Dufrenne arrested and placed in confinement over night on a trumped-up charge; Seltz liberated, and Lablanche held on a pretense of being concerned in the theft from the latter of a valuable package. A thorough search of Duvall's baggage—Dufrenne, it seemed, had none—disclosed nothing, except certain documents setting forth that the latter was Richard Duvall, an American citizen. It was these papers, in fact, which Duvall had shown to Mr. Phelps earlier in the day.